Wishes Are Made Of Stars
by Winga
Summary: Sherlock goes into a coma. Kind of. AU in which Sherlock isn't quite human. First part of the Fairy Arc.  Sherlock/John preslash


**Wishes Are Made Of Stars**

When he breaks down, no one awaits it.

It's in the middle of a case. They're at the victims house, looking over everything because he knows, he knows he's missed something. And then he sees a drawing and his world turns into something he knew before.

"We've missed you sorely," she says and smiles at him. She kisses his forehead and offers him her arm. "We thought you would never come back."

He stares at her. "Why?"

She doesn't pretend not to understand his question. She could, easily, but she sighs. Years ago, she promised truth and she's one to keep her promises. "I didn't know. I really didn't, not before the moment came. It was all _her_ doing, you must know that."

"No."

"I'm sorry. I know. I mean. She told us."

He looks at her and knows she's telling the truth. "I hate her."

"I know. Sometimes we all do. Please, come with me."

He walks with her in silence, thinking furiously.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock collapses, John is the one to catch him. He always is. Lestrade's already calling an ambulance and John's trying to figure out what happened. He doesn't notice the drawing, right there, nearly under the bookshelf Sherlock was exploring not a minute ago.<p>

"What is it?" Lestrade asks. Donovan looks at Sherlock and nearly says something about drugs, John knows, but Lestrade silences her.

"I have no idea. He's been eating, so that's not it. I really don't know."

Neither do the paramedics. They take Sherlock away, to a hospital, and John is certain Mycroft will take care that he gets the best treatments possible.

* * *

><p>The others are dancing. They're celebrating his returning. Even though he keeps saying, over and over again: "I'm not staying."<p>

"Don't be silly," they say, with sparkling eyes. "If the Queen wants you, you're staying."

"I will not stay here," he answers and pointedly looks away. He's always hated it here. Always. He had thought he'd made that clear the last time and that she'd leave him alone.

He sits by the bonfire and thinks about burning himself. Maybe that would make the Queen understand.

"Don't even think about."

Arabella sits next to him and he looks into her eyes. "It's not like I would really suffer."

She huffs. "I would make you. As much as I love you, it would serve you right. Now, tell me about this man you've met. The one you'd leave this for."

"Not that I don't really care for him a lot, I would really leave this for anything. I never understood how you stayed here when you had the choice. I always thought you'd leave with me," Sherlock answers. He looks into the fire and thinks of John. Of all the cases. Of the feeling of being alive.

Arabella hits him gently. "I thought you'd be the one to understand. I couldn't. I like my wings, quite a lot."

"I still have mine and keep on flying."

"You really don't know, do you?"

Now Sherlock's interested and he needs her to tell him what he's missed all this time. "No. I don't believe I do."

* * *

><p>Mycroft stares at Sherlock's body. "I need to see the scene," he'd said the moment Lestrade had answered his call. If the DI found it odd, he never said anything, just told Mycroft the address. The man would've rolled his eyes had he not thought it too plebeian and he'd took a car to the place.<p>

And he'd seen the drawing. No one had noticed him taking it with him.

"Do you know what happened to him?" John asks when he enters the room. He doesn't say hello to the man, he wants information.

Mycroft doesn't lift his gaze. "I most certainly do. But I'm not sure if I can tell you."

"Why?"

It's the way John says it. The urgency, need, helplessness. It makes him look at the other man in the eyes. "It's not my story to tell. Really, Doctor Watson. Sherlock would much rather tell it to you himself, as soon as he comes back." _If he comes back_, he thinks but doesn't say. Sherlock's always been able to please the Queen.

John's eyes flare and he stares Mycroft down. "I really do hate you sometimes."

Mycroft sighs. He shows the drawing to John. "If this says nothing to you, I'll know you don't already know."

It's a child's drawing. There's a fire in the middle and something like fairies dancing around it. Just something bigger and darker and somehow they seem so much happier. Except for one in a corner, a dark shape with its wings open.

John just stares and wonders what the drawing should tell him. It's enough for Mycroft who leaves the room with "I will be in contact. If he doesn't wake in three more days, I will tell you."

* * *

><p>It's all so wrong.<p>

"You can't be – why has she been lying to me all this time?" Sherlock asks Arabella. The dancers have stopped, sensing something going on. They try not to listen, but they do. All of them know, of

course, the story, but they're surprised to learn Sherlock doesn't.

"Apparently we all have. Or rather, we have never spoken about it with you."

Sherlock looks around him and shouts. "_If you're going to keep on doing this, why don't you come talk to me yourself?_"

It takes a moment before she appears.

"I hate you," Sherlock says, as a greeting.

"Ah, my dearest Sherlock," the Queen, Regina, smiles and quirks an eyebrow. He nods and takes his arm and they disappear into her castle.

"Is it enough if I give my wings?"

She looks at her, really looks. "Why?"

"I really don't want to be here. Ever. You know that!" Sherlock tells her and oh how he hates her. "You know I am more human than I am a fairy."

"You never were a fairy."

"_What?"_

She rolls her eyes, she can't help it. "Would I, in my status, let any of my darlings treat me the way you have? Really, Sherlock, think."

And he does. And he thinks, Arabella has to be wrong. Regina can't be in love with him and let him do what he wants because of that, like Arabella had thought and told. She's loved before and even they have been punished for smaller things than what Sherlock's done. So. That's just a story to keep the others from fighting back. Fighting against their Queen.

"What am I, then?"

"A star."

Sherlock looked bewildered. "How could I be a star? Stars don't look like people."

"Sometimes, Sherlock darling, they do. They, or you, take the form they need to survive. I am quite sure you fell because of your nosy habits."

Sherlock frowned. "Stars fall when wished upon."

Regina sighed. "I was afraid you'd know that part of the story."

"I wouldn't have. But John told me something along those lines."

"Very well, then," she says. She sits down and Sherlock follows suit. "There's a poem, about you."

* * *

><p>It really shouldn't take Sherlock so long to wake up. It shouldn't. John really can't stop worrying. He's eager to hear what is going on, he doesn't really care if it's from Sherlock or Mycroft. He <em>needs<em> to know. But Sherlock's in a coma and Mycroft – is somewhere.

There's nothing John can do but wait.

(Sarah calls and he tells her he can't work, he's too worried and she sounds so understanding. She knows, since he told her, what Sherlock means to him. Even if he didn't tell anyone else.)

* * *

><p><em>Once upon a wishing star,<br>one that shone far too bright,  
>one that was seen ever so far,<br>there was a boy and a light._

_He didn't really register what his thoughts were,  
>just thought 'in the future, far or near,<br>shall it really be anywhere,  
>'I love you' would be lovely to hear'.<em>

_His thought, unspoken, was heard,  
>just as the Queen made the wish of her own,<br>she wanted to add to her herd  
>someone who would widely be known.<em>

_A son, a heir, someone who would be hers forever  
>and who would, after she would be dead,<br>live and let his nor her tale die never,  
>and be the new king, the new head.<em>

_The wishes, made at the same moment,  
>reached the bright star called Sherlock,<br>and then the star shone and sent  
>a message that it would leave the flock.<em>

_So it came to be that one star, one star only  
>was trying to make two wishes come true,<br>and in trying this he became so very lonely,  
>so very, very blue.<em>

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

Regina sighs. "I know you don't want to believe -"

"No, that's not it. There must be something wrong. A star can't take two wishes unless they can be kept, both of them. And as we've seen, I just can't. I don't even want to keep the one for you, I'm sorry for that, but-"

"But you want to keep the one for the little boy – well he's not little anymore, but still. But Sherlock, surely you know you will be able to keep both of the promises," Regina says and she looks Sherlock straight in the eyes. She pours herself the nectar of the prettiest flowers she's seen.

The words hit Sherlock. "You can't – no. That's not a possibility. I won't live that long without him, anymore."

"You say that now, but I know, Sherlock, I _know_." She has tears in her eyes but she doesn't seem to notice. "You know I lost Rex some time ago but I still keep on going. I won't leave until it's my time. Until I have you here. Even if I have to wait until his time is up. I loved – still love – Rex with the same passion you hold for your human."

Sherlock takes a glass from the table between them and throws it at the wall. "_No_. You don't live forever. Your wish – you want me to live forever. I can't do that, not alone."

"You will find someone else."

He laughs coldly. "You really don't know me at all." After a short silence, he asks: "Can stars wish upon stars?"

"You would do that?"

"Yes."

Regina looks at Sherlock and contemplates both his words and her answer carefully. "I'm not completely sure. You could always try. And you must be different, even in your own kind, with two wishes on your shoulders."

"That's what I'm counting on." He takes a deep breath. "Please, can I go back to John?"

"You must attend our celebration of your birthday first," Regina says. Sherlock looks annoyed but says nothing. He's nearly out the palace when she says: "I promise to you I will not make you come back before he's dead."

"I might come visit. If I can take him with me."

Regina smiles as he leaves to think on things.

* * *

><p>Mycroft doesn't remember how different the time is. He thinks it goes a lot slower for Sherlock and he wonders if three days in this human life was too little – he really doesn't want Sherlock's anger for telling John something he should hear from Sherlock.<p>

Now it's been two days. Mycroft tends not to go into Sherlock's room when John is there – which means most of the time. He'd never realised, really, that the bond between the men was already so strong. Though from John's expressions the first day he'd read that it was not out. They had not spoken yet. But after this they would have to. If Sherlock got back.

He didn't like to think of it but he knew very well that if the Queen so decided, she might quite well be able to keep Sherlock with her. But he knew there had to be something else, behind the relationship between the Queen and Sherlock, they had never interacted in the same way as for instance he himself with her. There was something else – something probably no one knew, not even Sherlock.

His thoughts are quite abruptly stopped when John enters Sherlock's room. It takes a moment before he relaxes.

"Look. I know you care for him a lot, and that you worry about him and that you'll probably just say-"

"Doctor Watson-"

"John."

"John. I'd rather not have my brother's wrath the moment he wakes up. Please, do not ask that of me. He will want to be the one to tell you, if he so decides. And I would rather not make that decision for him. However, as promised, if he hasn't woken up tomorrow at noon, I will tell you. Even if I still do think he will quite likely hit me when he finds out," Mycroft tells John and looks at the man he thinks of as his brother. "I will leave you two alone."

"Wait."

He does, and he wonders why.

"Are you alright?"

Sometimes he's wondered why Sherlock decided John Watson would be interesting. But he thinks he knows some of the reasons. One of them being that he treats them the same way as he would anyone else. Anthea would never ask him if he was alright. "Yes, quite. Thank you, John." He smiles and leaves the room.

* * *

><p>The party is as dull as he expected it to be. He hates the dancing, hates the fire and wonders how he could be let go here, when it was obvious he could never do what he is supposed to.<p>

Arabella sits next to him, cross-legged. "What did she tell you?" she asks.

He thinks for a minute if he should tell her. She's his oldest friend and even if he would love to tell

John first – John isn't here and he's pretty sure he won't see Arabella for a while. So he tells her. "I'm a star."

Her eyes shine bright, brighter than the fire and she sparkles with excitement. "That explains a lot," she says, trying not to make the reason for her excitement clear. Though why bother, Sherlock thinks, since most of the other fairies look just the same, they're always overly excited when there's a reason to celebrate. (There are too many.)

"I am still quite shocked," he says. "I am filling two wishes. Hers is one that I don't much care for and his is one that I love filling."

"Can you tell me?"

He shakes his head. "Even if I could – I wouldn't. She would not approve and I wouldn't want to give his away."

"If you voice your wish, it never comes true," Arabella whispers. She smiles and hugs Sherlock. "I shall wish you all the best."

"I shall visit. She granted John a permission to come with me if he ever so wishes," Sherlock speaks into her hair. He has missed her.

Arabella stares at him in wonderment. "Without being forced? Quite unlike you."

Sherlock shrugs. "I'm pretty sure he would like it here."

The dancers have stopped a while ago and are now gathering around the tables. His and Arabella's is left alone, for some reason, and the feast begins.

Arabella takes some leaves and speaks her thoughts: "I would never have thought you'd settle with someone who would think any of this fun. Or like it."

He smiles. "Neither would I. But he likes the chase, too."

They talk for a while longer until it comes clear why their table has been left alone as Regina approaches. "Sherlock. Arabella," she greets them and Arabella bows whereas Sherlock nods in acknowledgement. No one, except for the late Rex, would get away with that, Sherlock thinks, now that he knows what he is. Before, he hadn't even wondered why he got away with everything.

"I assume you have told Arabella?"

"Of course I have," Sherlock says.

Regina nods. "Then I have someone to confide in in you, Arabella?"

"Yes, my Queen," Arabella answers and bows her head.

Everyone else is watching the conversation even though they don't hear the words or know what they talk about.

"Please, do all me Regina," the Queen smiles. "Amuse me," she continues and they start a discussion on stars and wishing, which sounds very peculiar to others.

* * *

><p>When John opens his eyes, he notices Sherlock is up. "Oh thank god. Though Mycroft was quite certain that at this point you would wake."<p>

Sherlock says nothing for a while and then: "Did he tell you I was a fairy?"

"What? Have you hit your head?"

"Ah, thank goodness for little things. No, I haven't. I could do with a little more sleep though. But I'd much rather go home," Sherlock answers and starts to sit.

"What? You've just woken up from a coma! You can't just sit up and start walking around!"

"I always do, after these moments," Sherlock says. "Besides, if Mycroft's been here, he's already informed the doctors and nurses that were I to wake, it would do no good to keep me here for nothing." So he sits up and looks around. "Where are my clothes?"

Mycroft appears at the door. "Here. Do you think they keep your body in the leaves?"

"N- They wouldn't dare!" Sherlock hisses and grabs at his clothes.

"The last time I was there, they did."

The brothers seem quite oblivious to the fact that John keeps staring at them, trying to understand what they are talking about. But he really has no idea. He's still wondering what Sherlock meant by saying he was a fairy.

"-she tell you?" Mycroft's asking when John concentrates on the discussion again.

"I'll tell you later. You know what I mean," Sherlock says and is trying not to look at either of the other men. "Now would you two kindly leave me alone for a moment? I would like to change."

They do and in the corridor John asks: "Why did he ask me if you told me if he was a fairy?"

"Ah the beginning. All in good time, dear John, all in good time. Now, I must be off. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want me to come with you – the car is waiting, by the way – when you discuss serious topics such as your relationship and his true nature. Have a nice day," Mycroft answers and leaves with his umbrella.

John stares after him until Sherlock comes from the room. "Ah. Well. I might've asked him back for tea. Anyway, come along John. There's so much I need to tell you!"


End file.
